The Curse of the Bad Haircut

"I know what to get you for Christmas," said my boyfriend last week, "But it's not very romantic."

Oh boy.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well, you've been talking about how much you've been wanting a haircut, so..."

I started shrieking with excitement before he could even finish.

Back in February, I got a terrible haircut, as shown above. It was awful. It was too short, too thinned out, too lopsided, and too "news anchor". It was the result of a deal I found on LivingSocial.com for an expensive salon uptown. Bad idea. I've been trying to grow it out for the past eight months. The thing about a bad haircut is that it's still a bad haircut even when you're growing it out. A bad haircut is cured only by a good haircut.

"It is romantic! It is romantic!" I said, tugging at his arm, "It's so thoughtful! Thank you!"

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. Or talking about it, for that matter. My appointment is scheduled for tomorrow morning at Cutler Salon.

"I think they may have to cut a few inches here to even it out," I explained to him last night on the sofa. I held up a chunk of hair and turned my fingers into an imaginary pair of scissors to demonstrate. Like most guys, I knew he preferred long hair.

"Will you still find me attractive?" I asked, in all seriousness.

"Of course," he said, kissing me on the cheek, "I just want you to be happy."

I smiled. He's the best.

"The only way that I would find you less attractive..."

My smile dropped.

"...Is if you cut your hair like Anne Hathaway in Les Misérables."

Is he serious? I think he's actually being serious.

"You mean, like, if I specifically asked the stylist to chop off locks of my hair with a dull razor and make it as uneven as possible?"

He nodded.

"That is not gonna happen!"

Oh God, if that does end up happening, I Dreamed A Dream should be my theme song. It just better not happen.